The Last Dance
by Karihan
Summary: After the events in Kobol's last gleaming, how could Adama and Roslin ever reconnect? Written in the hiatus between seasons 1 and 2.Spoilers: Through the end of Season 1, gone AU after that. Disclaimer: not my characters though I love 'em as if they w
1. The Photo

"Download, print or toss, download, print or toss—Gods, I hate this." 

Alec turned from his reading with a sympathetic glance. "Culling your memory allocation, Boss?"

"Yeaaah," Mayla blew the word out on a sigh. "It's like trying to decide which of your children to disown."

Mayla Coiros was a stillshot photographer. More precisely, she had been the foremost freelance photojournalist on Airilon and well known throughout the Twelve Colonies. Stillshots didn't have the cachet of video, but Mayla's work, imbued with her particular combination of journalistic integrity, human insight and pure artistry, had commanded high prices. Even now, after the Colonies' destruction at the hands of the Cylons, she continued working in her chosen medium, submitting shots of high-profile celebrities to news services and documenting as much as possible of daily life in the fleet.

She met Alec Badel, himself a photographer of considerable ability, soon after boarding the _Shining Hand_. He quietly appointed himself her aide-slash-apprentice, not so much for access to the cameras and equipment she'd wrangled on board, but to absorb as much as he could of her process and viewpoint, particularly where it concerned photographing people. They made an odd pair, the sandy-haired, preoccupied older woman and the dark young man with the warm smile, but a decidedly filial relationship had grown between them. And Mayla relied on Alec, both as a sounding board and to keep her organized.

Alec set his book down and joined Mayla, looking over her shoulder at the screen of the laptop into which she downloaded her digital pictures. Mayla's current dilemma stemmed from the fact that computer memory and storage, like everything else in the fleet, was at a premium. "Your portable's not full up yet."

"No, but it's getting there. I _have_ to persuade someone to give me some space on one of the shipboard computers, damnit!"

Alec snorted, "Now there's an impossible dream. But you don't really have to toss them, do you? Can't you keep printing them out?"

She raked her hair back from her forehead. "I can print them, sure. But I'm already practically sleeping with my cameras; I just don't have much room for hard copies."

"You can stick them in my bunk for now." Alec was nothing if not loyal.

"Thanks," she grinned.

He watched the grin fade as she continued to scroll through her work. Following her eyes to the portable's screen, he saw that she was working her way back in time from her most recent shots. Most of the faces, young or old, military or civilian, were wearing the uncertainty caused by the breakdown in relations between the government and the military, the attempted assassination of Commander Adama and the power plays and machinations that had followed his near-fatal shooting. Mayla's photos vibrated with tension. Alec frowned at his shoes, wondering how much of her brilliance would ultimately be sacrificed to practicality.

"Damn."

He looked up. "What is--oh."

Though the photo on Mayla's screen was a close, chest-and-up shot of two people with background out of focus, Alec had no trouble placing the location or time: On board the _Cloud Nine_, during the Colonial Day celebrations following the Vice-Presidential Elections.

He knew this because the two people were Colonial President Laura Roslin and Commander William Adama, and they were dancing.

"You haven't shown me this one before."

"Yeah, well ... I wasn't going to submit it anywhere. I haven't had a chance to get back to it until now."

Fascinated, he studied the details, analyzing how Mayla captured the lines, the sense of graceful motion in a still photo. The President was smiling, while the Commander's lips were slightly parted. Mayla had probably caught him in the middle of saying something. Then sudden realization widened his eyes.

If you didn't know anything about these two, you would swear that the dark-eyed, rough-hewn man was leaning forward to kiss the elegantly lovely redhead in his arms, and she was turning to him with a smile of sweet anticipation.

"Damn," he echoed her unconsciously. "Why didn't you submit this one? The news services would have gone crazy for it."

"Precisely why I didn't submit it." At his raised eyebrows, she sighed again. "Look, Junior, the way I saw it there were only two possibilities. Either Nothing was going on between Adama and Roslin, or Something was going on. If it was Nothing, then this picture would only be an embarrassment to two people with enough in their lives to worry about. If it was Something ... then I figured that Something deserved a better chance than it would get being dissected by public speculation."

He smiled delightedly. "You're a romantic, Boss."

"Don't let it get around." She nibbled absently on the tip of an index finger. "I still have to figure out what to do with this shot."

"What to do with – Mayla, you _can't_ be thinking of throwing this one away! It's beautiful!" Alec was outraged at the thought.

"I know, I know! But honestly, Alec, what would I use it for if I kept it? And is it a good idea to have it just lying around?"

He rested his chin on his hands and thought furiously for a minute. "Print it out," he said. As she opened her mouth, he held up a hand to forestall her. "Print out two copies," he said. "Send one to the Commander, and the other to the President. That way you'll be giving it to the people best able to decide what should happen to it."

Her jaw remained dropped open for long moments. "You want me ... to send this picture ... to the Commander and the President. As things stand between them now, after everything that's happened in the past month, you want me to send them – Junior, have you stood in the same room with both Roslin and Adama recently?"

"Well, of course not."

"I have. Liquid nitrogen would _warm_ the atmosphere between them, believe me."

He grinned. "I do. But there are three points that you may not have considered."

"Speak on."

He ticked them off on his fingers. "One. You don't have to tell either of them that you've sent a copy to the other. They may suspect, but they won't know. Two. As things stand between them now, they probably need a reminder of a time when things were better. And Three ... there is actually a third possibility."

"A third—"

He leaned forward and spoke in a near-whisper, "The possibility that Nothing is happening between them, but Something _might_."

She stared back at him for a time, then turned back to her portable. "Right, it's confirmed. You are certifiably insane. Go quietly when they come for you, okay?"

He laughed and returned to his book, leaving Mayla to her dilemma.

A few minutes later, he heard her printer start up, and he smiled.


	2. Realization

Commander William Adama ran a stylus down the list of names and evaluations on his desk. Across from him his flight instructor sat, reporting on the status of the new pilot trainees. 

"I think we got lucky with this batch, sir." Kara Thrace stretched her legs and crossed them at the ankles, slouching a little. "Six good prospects for either Viper or Raptor pilots. Eight more don't have the reflexes but could probably handle shuttles or tenders. Only four look likely to wash out completely."

He glanced down at her list. "That leaves two."

"Yeah, well ..." Starbuck wore a gamine smile that threatened to mutate into a smirk. "Those two I'm kinda keeping an eye on. If I'm right, they only joined up because of a desire for – how shall I put this – the CAG's _personal_ attention."

One corner of Adama's mouth twitched upwards. "Really. Well, as long as they aren't disruptive, that shouldn't be a problem. Recruits have had crushes on their CO's before." He ignored Starbuck's barely-audible _as you should know._ "You might want to drop a quiet word in Lee's ear, but if these two women can prove themselves, let them run."

She was definitely smirking now. "Actually, only one of the two is a woman."

"Ah. Make sure you let Lee know, then."

"Awwwww ... sometimes, Boss, you are just no fun."

He traded grins with her, leaning back in his chair, only to be pulled up short by a stabbing sensation in his left side. He leaned forward again with an involuntary huff of pain.

"What is it?" Starbuck sat up, startled and concerned.

"It's – just a spasm. It'll pass." He tried to relax by way of demonstration, but the pain jabbed again.

Her eyes narrowed. "Were you working out too much in the gym again?"

"No."

Two nights ago she had come across him sitting doubled-over at one of the weight machines. After helping him back to his office, breezily reassuring everyone they met on the way, she had proceeded to ream him out for trying to finish off what Boomer's bullets had started. Seeing the fear hiding behind the anger in her eyes, he had taken the lecture fairly quietly.

She looked likely to start in on him again, though. "Damn it, and after you told me off on the same subject! I'm calling Doc Cottle—"

"No you're not, Lieutenant." The steel in that denial caught her halfway out of her chair. He sighed and softened his voice. "Seriously. I'm fine."

She sat down again, but her eyes were still troubled.

Both Kara and Lee, he knew, had been carrying a load of unwarranted guilt over the shooting. Neither of them could have changed Sharon Valerii's actions or their outcome, even if they hadn't chosen to disobey his orders. But they had so chosen, he had gotten shot, and so they felt guilty. The strict military disciplinarian in him agreed with them.

_Fortunately, a near-death experience can cut through a lot of crap._

All those calling for Starbuck and Apollo's courts-martial were as doomed to disappointment as those calling for Adama's. The hard facts said that he needed his CAG and best pilot, just as the fleet needed him. The deeper truth was that he needed the only family he had left. During his agonizing and ongoing recuperation, righteous anger would have been a poor substitute for the people he loved.

They stayed away from the subject of Laura Roslin as much as possible, though, unless speaking on official terms. Kara and Lee's actions he at least understood, though he still couldn't agree with them. Roslin's ... were another order of magnitude altogether.

The awkward silence ended when the door buzzer announced an envelope-bearing corpsman. "Mail for you, Commander."

"I wasn't expecting anything in hard copy."

"It came over from the _Shining Hand_, sir. Lt. Gaeta's been over it."

Indeed, a sheet attached to the envelope meticulously listed the various scans and tests it had undergone to declare it safe for Adama's presence. Adama smiled at Gaeta's silent editorial comment on commanders who refused to let an aide screen their mail.

"Who's it from?" Starbuck leaned forward

He turned the envelope over as the door shut behind the corpsman. "Mayla Coiros. Huh."

"You know her?" Curious, Starbuck got up moved to Adama's left side.

"Not exactly. She's a photojournalist. Shows up at most press conferences and official functions. I have seen her work; she's extremely talented." He looked up at Starbuck hanging over his shoulder. "This is marked 'Confidential', you know."

She gave him a cheerful leer. "Boss, are you telling me that some photographer has sent you compromising pictures and an extortion note, and I don't get to see?"

He snorted. "I doubt that would be this lady's style."

"Then there's no problem with me looking." She smiled in triumph.

He shook his head and slit the envelope open. Inside was a single photo underneath a brief, handwritten cover letter.

**Dear Commander, I came across this picture while clearing out some stored shots. I thought that you might like to have it. Sincerely yours, Mayla Coiros.**

Adama's first reaction to the photo was extremely human. _Good gods. _That's_ how I _looked

_Not to mention how she looked ..._

_And Starbuck's getting an eyeful, great, just wonderful. Well, at least she can't see my face right now._ Resigned, he braced himself for a Starbuckian comment, or at least a smothered snicker.

Neither came.

Surprised by her uncharacteristic silence, he glanced up at her, only to see that her eyes had again turned dark and troubled as she looked at the picture on his desk. Hesitantly, she extended one finger as if to touch the President's smiling image, then pulled it back. She seemed suddenly aware that he was watching her, and pulled herself back from where her thought had taken her.

"Oh, uh ... sorry for being nosy, sir. Are we finished?"

"I believe so. Is something wrong, Starbuck?"

"Nope, not a thing. I just need to prep for my next training session."

"Then you're dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Thank you sir." She started to head out the door, then hesitated. "Boss? Would you please call Doc Cottle for a checkup later?"

He gave her a searching look, then a nod. "Very well."

"Thanks." A quick smile, and she was gone.

_What was that?_

He didn't kid himself; what he'd just seen was an extremely atypical reaction. Starbuck, not cracking wise at a perfect opportunity? Apologizing? Something was bothering his girl, and that something had to do with Laura Roslin.

He looked down at the smiling, vibrant woman in the photo. She didn't look like that these days, he realized. She looked tired, drawn. Pale. The stresses of the Presidency, he'd thought.

Points of data, drifting through his memory, seemed to catch on each other and link. Roslin's exhaustion. Elosha's near-constant attendance on her. The murmurs of many in the fleet who called her the chosen leader, the one foretold. Doc Cottle. Kara looking like ... like she was afraid of losing a friend.

Turning away from the disturbing photo, he ran his eyes over the spines of his books, until his gaze was arrested by one particular title.

The Pythian Prophecies: Text and Analyses

The words solidified his thoughts like a seed crystal dropping into a solution. _No. No, she can't be – it's not possible. Well, at least not _likely.

_But it _fits_, it fits everything that's happened, everything she's said and done, everything ..._

His lips tightened, and he turned to key his comm unit. "Dualla."

"Yes Commander?"

"I need to speak to Doctor Cottle privately. Get him on the line and put him through to my office."

"I – yes sir. It may take some time to track him down."

"I'll wait."

"Yes sir. Sir, is something – "

He cut her off. "You have your orders."

"Yes sir." Her voice was a study in deep worry.

While he waited, he pulled The Pythian Prophecies from the shelf and leafed through it. The more he read, the grimmer his face became.

"Doctor Cottle, sir."

"Thank you, Dualla. Put him through." A beat. "Doctor?"

"Yes, Commander?" Doc also sounded concerned. "Are your wounds giving you trouble? I can shuttle over."

"Not necessary, Doctor. I'm calling to ask when President Roslin's next round of cancer treatments are scheduled."

A moment of silence, then, "Ah – Commander, I'm sure you know I can't tell you that ... "

Adama cut the comm.

Confirmation.

He sat, staring at the book in his hands, feeling cold realization boil away in the heat building up inside him. He took a long, slow breath through his nose, looking for his customary control. Once he found it, he hit the comm again.

"Dualla. Get a shuttle ready for immediate departure. Then contact _Colonial One_ to tell them that I'm on my way over to speak with the President. If they get jumpy – " He bared his teeth. " – tell them I'll be alone and unarmed."

"Yes sir. And ... if they're still jumpy?"

"That will be their problem. Adama out."

His side spasmed again as he strode into the corridor. He ignored it.


	3. Confrontation

"Thank you for calling so quickly, Doctor." Laura Roslin massaged her temples, where an incipient headache was gathering force. "You're quite certain he knew before he called you?" 

"Well, suspected, certainly." Cottle's voice was heavy with chagrin. "Madame President, I must apologize. I feel as if I've betrayed medical confidence. The Old Man caught me completely off guard."

"Yes ... he seems to have a talent for that," she sighed. "Don't blame yourself. The Commander is a very astute man; he was bound to figure it out eventually." The massage wasn't helping; she stopped and folded her hands. "I'm afraid I have to sign off, Doctor. I'll no doubt be getting another call very shortly. Thank you again for the advance warning."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll see you at your next appointment."

She looked up to meet Billy Keikeya's worried gaze. "How do you think he'll react?" he asked.

"Grill me for the details and then lecture me, I expect." She forced a smile.

"But surely he must realize –"

A soft chime from the comm interrupted Billy, followed by the voice of the assistant that screened the President's calls.

"Ma'am? I have Ship Security on the line for you."

"Put them through."

"Madame President? Medral here. The _Galactica _just radioed that Commander Adama is shuttling over. He's apparently alone except for his pilot, but..." The man sounded distinctly nervous, though controlled. "I'm assembling an armed escort for his arrival, ma'am."

That irritated her. "Mr. Medral, the last time I checked, the Cylons were our enemies, not William Adama."

An audible swallow, then, "Yes, ma'am."

"_If_ you people are so worried about one man, you may provide a single unarmed courtesy escort. I refuse to have fellow patriots aiming weapons at each other on this ship ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am." He sounded positively abashed. Good.

"Very well. Bring him here as soon as he arrives."

Roslin sat back to wait and contemplate her tenuous working relationship with Commander William Adama. Their original agreement, his propping up her Presidency in exchange for her maintaining his pretense that he knew the location of Earth, had been nullified the moment she revealed the facts to Kara Thrace. She had both impugned his honor in the Lieutenant's eyes and infringed on the control over military issues she had ceded to him. These were actions he could neither forget nor easily forgive, she knew.

But after the assassination attempt, he had still used one of his few lucid periods after his first round of emergency surgeries to order Colonel Tigh to release her from _Galactica's_ brig and see her reinstated as President. Tigh had looked like he would rather swallow live explosives, but he'd done it. Roslin often wondered what Adama had said to persuade him.

No doubt, angry as he was, Adama still considered her a better alternative than Tom Zarek. The convicted terrorist and Right Honorable Representative of Sagittaron had seized his opportunity to play the government supporters baying for Adama's resignation against the military supporters baying for hers. The appearance of unity was necessary to keep the entire fleet from sliding into Zarek's hands, and they were still fighting battles on that front.

And so a new compromise was reached, with the two of them effectively covering each other's back. But Adama made it quietly clear that he took that position only under duress.

"Commander Adama, ma'am."

"Send him in."

Adama swept into the room, shedding his Security escort. Roslin had no doubt that the escort had been dismissed as irrelevant and massively ignored the entire way.

_I can sympathize with that feeling._

He stood before her desk, and Roslin reminded herself that she was not the one who had to come to attention. Not that Adama _came_ to attention, as such; he just seemed to exist in that state much of the time.

"Madame President." He nodded to her, then turned to Billy. "Mr. Keikeya, I need to speak to President Roslin privately."

Her aide's face was a study in uncertainty, which Roslin decided to relieve. "Give us the room for a bit please, Billy."

He stood rather reluctantly. "I'll be right outside, ma'am."

As the door shut behind him, she smiled pleasantly. "Commander, I believe I know why you're here. Won't you sit down?"

In response, he silently laid a small book in front of her. She looked down at a leather-bound copy of The Pythian Prophecies; it looked like one of the antiques from his library.

_Ah, yes, very astute and extremely well-read, let's not forget that..._

Certain that his message had been received, he pulled a chair across from her and sat.

"How long have you known?" He was direct and straight to the point, as she'd expected.

"I found out just before the Cylon destruction of the Colonies."

"Besides Major Cottle and Starbuck, who else knows?"

"Billy, of course, and Elosha." She hesitated. "And ... Captain Adama."

He did not react to that revelation. "You should have told me."

She kept her face as impassive as his. "My medical information is privileged, Commander, but I fully intended to inform you before my ability to perform my duties looked in doubt. Fleet security has not been impacted by –"

"I'm not talking about fleet security."

The voice was still quiet, but the intensity in his words brought her up short. For the first time since he walked in, she looked directly into his eyes.

The anger behind his stone surface she had expected, but beyond that there was tension, a rawness whose source she did not understand. _There is something else going on here, but what?_

"You should have told me. You should have _trusted_ me enough to tell me."

_What, trust a man who arrested me?_ She tried to push those words out, but she couldn't pretend she didn't understand his real meaning. Before the coup, before she'd circumvented his authority with her revelations to Starbuck, _that_ was when she should have trusted him.

"You're right. I should have." She lowered her eyes to the book in front of her. "I'm sorry."

He nodded acknowledgement, and his eyes followed hers. "And the ... visions?"

She suspected he'd substituted _visions_ for another word, possibly _hallucinations_. "I started taking Chamalla extract as a possible treatment for my breast cancer. It hasn't been effective as a cure, but there have been other effects. Information ... given to me."

"By the Gods?"

Here was a sticking point, she knew. "That is what I believe, and what Elosha believes."

He shook his head. "I thought you were using the prophecies, as I'd used the legend of Earth. I never dreamed—"

"—that I might be living them?" Her lips crimped. "So to speak."

"Rumors have gotten out, you know. You're gaining what can only be described as spiritual followers."

"I know." She would not back away from this. "But as you so eloquently explained to me, people need something to live for."

His brow furrowed. For such a hardened realist, moving in the realm of Gods and prophecy had to be acutely uncomfortable. She was seeking for a way to convey her new reality when something Billy had said came back to her.

_"Tradition, duty, honor ... they're more than words to these people. They're a way of life. If you want them to accept your authority as President, you need to make them see the situation in those terms."_

Maybe she could explain it to him. She suddenly very much wanted him to understand.

"Commander, our survival hangs by a thread, and we two know better than anyone how thin that thread is. When everyone around you was lost to despair, you stood on that deck among the living and the dead and offered hope. Hope based on a lie, yes, but you still gave our people something they desperately needed, and who could say you were wrong to do so?"

She leaned forward eagerly. "If I have been given a chance, however slim, however strange, to make that hope a reality, then isn't it my obligation to try, for whatever time I have left?"

His next question seemed pulled from him. "How ... long?"

She tried to read his eyes, but he was no longer looking directly at her. "Probably no more than five or six months."

His lips twisted, but not in anger, she sensed. The anger seemed to be leaking away from him, but the tension grew.

"Truly, it doesn't matter." She smiled sadly. "In the face of the billions who have already died, should I use the breath I have left to complain that I'm not going to be around as long as I expected? That would be the height of ingratitude." Her expression turned somber as her gaze dropped to his left side. "After all, there are no guarantees for any of us."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The furrows on his face had deepened. He looked—_bleak_ was the only word she could come up with.

She had a question of her own. "Was it Lt. Thrace who told you?"

"No. At least, not in words."

"I see. Well ... I'm not sorry you found out. However it happened."

He nodded and started to stand. Whatever was locked inside him by that tension seemed fated to remain hidden. Roslin bit her lip in disappointment —

-- And plunged without warning into vision. Intense sensory input that had nothing to do with the room she was in flooded through her.

_First she felt strong arms, cradling her against a lean, hard chest. Then a warm mouth was savoring hers and being savored in achingly sweet response. A brief moment of separation showed her dark blue eyes heated with passion, then the mouth traced a scorching path along her jaw and down her throat. A low, husky voice breathed her name against her skin..._

"Madame President?"

As abruptly as the vision had possessed her, it vanished. She was left trembling, nearly gasping, almost as badly shaken as she'd been after her fatal diagnosis.

Because her partner in that altered reality, the owner of the arms, chest, mouth, eyes and voice, was _sitting directly across from her_, concern deepening on his face.

"Is something wrong?" He rose from his chair. For one lunatic second, she was convinced he meant to come around the desk and take her in his arms. She squoze her eyes shut, trying desperately to throw off confusion and bring herself back to here-and-now.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." Her reflexive denial felt tissue-thin. When she opened her eyes and saw the set of his jaw, she knew it certainly hadn't convinced _him_.

"I'm sorry, Commander." She swallowed hard and gathered every bit of self-control she could summon. "It was ... just a twinge."

He apparently didn't like that answer any better, but he let it go. "Should I have your aide call Dr. Cottle?"

"No ... no. I'll handle that. Thank you for your concern." Her nerve endings were jangling with awareness of him; she knew her eyes had to be enormous. She had to end this. "I shouldn't keep you from your duties any longer."

It was a clear dismissal, but he hesitated at the door. "You'll keep me informed." Spoken not as a question, but as statement carved in granite.

"Yes, of course."

He nodded and left. It seemed that air rushed into the room to fill the space he vacated. She breathed slowly, trying to recover.

Billy reentered the room. He started towards his desk, but stopped as he looked at her face. "Are you all right?" He came to her side. "What happened!"

"He didn't chew my head off, Billy. I'm fine." She was relieved to hear the tartness in her tone, and to find, when she stood, that her legs would hold her up. "Would you please call Elosha and tell her I'm on my way to see her?"

"Do you want me to come with you?"

_Absolutely not!_ "That won't be necessary. You keep on with your work."

As Billy turned to the comm, she laid a hand on the book Adama had left behind. The leather was still warm from his touch. She shivered.

_Dear Gods, what am I to make of this!_


	4. Consultation

Priest Elosha's quarters were small, but private, a courtesy extended to her by her position. She had crammed all of her living functions into the back of them and curtained off the front to serve as a combination meditation/consultation area. A soft blend of herbal scents enveloped Laura as Elosha ushered her inside. The Priestess' look of concern told her that she still hadn't completely regained control over her facial expression. 

"Sit down, Laura." Elosha pressed a small cup of herb tea into her hands. "Billy said you were upset about something, but he didn't give me any details."

Roslin sat and took a revivifying sip of the warm liquid. "Thank you. That helps."

"Are you all right? Have you had another vision?"

She started to answer, then stopped and thought for a moment. "I'm honestly not sure, Elosha. How do you tell the difference between a vision sent by the Gods and an extremely intense—" gods, she'd almost said _fantasy_ "—hallucination?"

Elosha considered. "I don't know if I can answer that question, Laura. By its nature, the vision experience is extremely subjective." She tilted her head to one side. "Did this seeing seem as real to you as your previous visions?"

Laura nodded. "Even more so, if anything. In addition to sights and sounds, there were ... tactile sensations." _And scent, and taste..._ She shivered again.

Elosha's eyes tracked everything. "Why don't you describe it to me."

Laura took another swallow of tea and a deep breath. Then she described her experience in the most neutral, succinct terms she could find. She named no names and gave no identifying details.

To her credit, Elosha's eyebrows rose only fractionally. After Laura had finished, the Priestess took a sip of her own tea and seemed to be choosing her words. "This man in your vision ... did you recognize him? Is he someone you know?"

_I _knew _that would be the first question._ "Yes."

A longer moment of silence, then Elosha smiled. "But you have no intention of telling me who he is."

"No."

"I see." Another sip. "You've described what happened. Can you tell me what emotions you felt during this ... experience?"

Inwardly, Laura balked. "I ... I wasn't fighting what was happening, if that's what you mean."

Elosha raised one eyebrow and waited. The silence stretched.

"All right!" Laura snapped. "I was a willing and eager participant, okay? Are you satisfied!"

Elosha's expression went extremely bland. "My satisfaction is not at issue here.

"And no, that's not innuendo."

Roslin sighed and set down her cup. "I'm sorry, Elosha. This is just so different—my other visions were real, but not personal. This is ... incredibly personal. And I just don't know what to think."

"Understandable." Elosha gazed into the tendrils of steam rising from her cup. "Well, Laura, given the rather limited information available, I can only say this: _If_ the Gods did indeed send you this seeing, then this relationship is important to them for some reason."

"'This relationship'?" Laura's eyes widened. "Elosha, there _is_ no relationship. There can be _no_ relationship!"

"Are you sure?" The dark face was imperturbable.

Laura stood, realized there was no room to pace and sat down again. "Is this what you're telling me? The Gods have sent this vision, so I must find a way to make it happen?" She was trembling again, but this time from anger. "In addition to leading our people to Earth, no matter what the cost to myself, I have to be forced into—Gods! Can I choose nothing for myself anymore!"

The Priestess shook her head. "The Gods cannot force us, Laura. They can only instruct, and guide, and hope we allow them into our lives."

"When their instruction and guidance takes the form of—of—well, it _feels_ pretty damn forceful!"

"I know." Elosha's eyes shone with sympathy. "But think for a moment. If you had never received this vision, if all the complications and obstacles you see didn't exist, how would you feel about an intimate connection with this person then?"

Laura made a helpless gesture with both hands. "I can't just edit the complications from my thought processes, Elosha. They're _there._ They exist. And they're not going away ... especially the fact that, barring a miracle, anyone I make an intimate connection with is going to be bereaved in a matter of months!" She wrapped her arms around her middle.

"In other words, you don't want to start anything where someone is likely to end up hurt."

"Of course I don't!"

Elosha nodded slowly, looking at her hands in her lap. "That's fair, I suppose. I'm sure my husband didn't want to hurt me either."

Laura blinked. Elosha had sliced through her turmoil as with a knife. "Your husband?"

"Oh, yes. I was married at age 20. He was tall, hazel-eyed and had a smile warmer than an Aquaria sunset." Laura could still see that earlier 20-year-old in Elosha's own smile. "He was a marine biologist ... three years after we married, he was killed in a diving accident. We'd planned to have our first child that year."

"I'm so sorry." She felt tears welling at the personal tragedy, spoken in such quiet words.

Elosha shook her head. "The thing is ... looking at you and your situation, I have to wonder. If he could have seen his own fate when we met, would he have tried to protect me, to keep me from loving him so that I wouldn't be hurt?" Her voice was introspective and calming. "I think the answer would be yes. He had a kind and caring heart, just as you do."

She looked into Laura's eyes, drawing her into her gaze. "And then I have to ask myself: If I could have seen his fate, would I have let him protect me? Would I have been better off?"

Laura's reply was only just above a whisper. "I think I know your answer."

A single nod. "Yes, you do." Elosha reached out one hand. Laura placed hers in it. "Grief is the price we pay for love, Laura. Given the choice, I will always pick living grief over cold, dead might-have-beens. Always." She took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh.

"Perhaps this man — whoever he is – would make the same choice, were it placed before him. To love in spite of pain."

Laura dropped her eyes. "I don't ... know."

Elosha watched her. "Do you think he lacks the courage?"

"No." _Never. But he's had so much pain already..._

"Well..." Elosha gave Laura's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Things will happen as they will. I've probably given you more than enough to think about, but I do have one more question for you."

"Another one?" Laura's laugh was a trifle shaky.

"This one you don't have to answer, but you should think on it." Elosha reached out to capture Laura's other hand. "Who is there for you, Laura?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, while you're spending your strength trying to save the rest of us, who is there to give strength and comfort to you?"

"Well, there's you of course, and Billy—" Laura stopped. Elosha was shaking her head.

"You've become a dear friend to me, Laura, and I know Billy feels the same way. But he is the chief aide to the Colonial President, just as I am her spiritual adviser. We can't escape those roles. When all roles are stripped away ... who is there for you?" She gave a sudden, puckish smile. "For that matter—and think on this one very carefully—who is there for _him_?"

Laura was taken by a sudden suspicion. "You know exactly whom I've been talking about this whole time, don't you?"

She laughed. "I? No, I don't know. But I have, shall we say, a strongly-held suspicion." Her smile softened. "I've been your spiritual advisor for long enough today. Now I'm going to give you a piece of advice ... as your friend.

"You asked me earlier if you could choose nothing for yourself. I think, with this vision, the Gods are telling you to do exactly that." She squoze Laura's hands, then released them. "Choose something for yourself, Laura."

Elosha rose from her chair. Laura rose more slowly. "I'll tell you what we should do. I have a naming ceremony to officiate this afternoon on board the _Cloud Nine_, and you should come with me." She linked arms with Laura and led her into the corridor. "You don't give yourself nearly enough breaks from that office..."

By the time Laura returned to her office late that afternoon, she was calm and Presidential again. Common sense had reasserted itself, along with her sense of humor. It was all well and good for the Gods to send _her_ vivid visions of ... interesting possibilities, but Commander William Adama still thought of her as a glorified schoolteacher at best and a dangerously unbalanced hindrance at worst.

_If the Gods don't take _him_ into account, they simply aren't going to get very far._

With that wry thought, she was smiling as she walked through the door and greeted Billy.

"Feeling better, ma'am?"

"Much better, Billy." She stopped at a sudden thought. "I've been meaning to ask, how are things with you and Petty Officer Dualla?"

"Fine. I'll be meeting her on board the _Rising Star_ tonight, in fact."

"Really?" She smiled in relief as she sat down. "That's good. I was worried there might have been, well ... strains because of everything that's happened."

He grinned suddenly. "Ma'am, are you trying to apologize for letting politics impair my love life?"

"I suppose I am," she laughed. "Are you telling me they haven't?"

"Not really. Oh, it's not that we never argue, but she doesn't hold me responsible for you any more than I hold her responsible for the Old Man."

"Mm, sensible of you." Laura's smile turned wistful. "I'm so glad. I remember the two of you dancing last Colonial Day. You were so completely lost in each other. It was sweet."

"Well, actually ... um, funny you should mention that." Billy's face reddened slightly as he walked over and laid something on her desk. Surprised, Laura looked down at an envelope marked "Confidential". An open envelope, but then, Billy always screened her mail.

"I—um, I'm going to get some water. Be right back." And Billy vanished from the room.

Bewildered, Laura removed the contents from the envelope, read the brief cover note ... and saw the picture.

"Oh." Herself, in his arms, the two of them coming together to kiss and be kissed ... the picture melded with the vision, triggering a replay in her mind. Eyes closing, she sank back in her chair, one hand going to her forehead.

When she reopened her eyes, she cast them towards the ceiling, even though she knew full well that "up" has no objective meaning in deep space.

"You are really trying to hit me over the head with this, aren't you?" she sighed.


	5. Frustration

He wound up at the gym, as he'd known he would eventually. 

Adama had spent his afternoon in CIC, and wouldn't you know, for once everything was boring and routine, offering no distraction from the turmoil in his thoughts. He found himself descending into a blacker and blacker mood, with everyone on duty trying to walk more and more softly around him until Colonel Tigh came on shift. Saul assessed the situation, steered him firmly in the direction of his office and suggested that he take a break.

Actually, what he said was, "Bill, you look like a bug crawled up your ass and _died_. Go pull it out before you rip someone a new one, will you?"

So the gym it was.

He tried jogging on one of the treadmills, but he found the running-and-getting-nowhere too close a match to what was happening inside his head. He stopped and went to don a pair of boxing gloves, but even the brawny marines, who at other times might have had the bravado to offer him a sparring match, were avoiding his glower today. So the heavy bags were the only option left for venting his frustration.

And his frustration grew every time his memory replayed Laura Roslin saying three words. "It doesn't matter."

The more he tried to redirect his thoughts, the more they circled back to that point. The more he thought about it, the more force went into his blows, the more snap to his fists.

_She tells my son, she tells Starbuck, but she doesn't tell—_

He launched into a flurry of jabs.

_Just a twinge! She looked like she was deciding whether to throw up or pass out ... just a twinge my—_

A series of hooking, punishing shots that would have put any of those marines on the mat instead piled into the hapless bag.

_It doesn't matter! Does she actually believe that? Does she truly think that it doesn't matter that she's sick, it doesn't matter—_

A left

_-that she's-_

A right

_-DYING?_

**SLAM**

With that last roundhouse, Adama would have sworn that the heavy bag had found a way to fight back. He certainly _felt_ like he'd been kicked just below the heart. Reflexively he swung himself between the bag and the wall, where he could hide his agonized grimace from the rest of the room as the worst pain of the day hit him and hit hard.

He had no idea how long he stood there, braced against the wall with legs that threatened to buckle, clutching his left side, but eventually the pain eased fractionally, and he could focus on breathing again. The hot sweat of his exertion had been replaced with a much colder, clammier version.

_Right. Okay, Bill, obviously you are _not_ going to deal with this by taking it out on the gym equipment. Your body is not giving you that option. So get cleaned up and fracking calm down._

The shower cleansed his body and eased his muscles, but at one point he glanced down and saw the puckered scars of his bullet wounds, networked around with finer marks from the surgeries. His expression darkened all over again.

_Wouldn't that have been ironic, if I'd been the first to go after all?_

Clearly calm was going to be quite a while coming.

_Too much death, too much loss. I'm starting to take it all personally._

He sighed and went to towel off and get dressed. Once back in his office, he steeled himself to confront two things he was very much inclined to avoid, his own thoughts and the picture lying on his desk.

He could see why Kara had been unsettled by it. The Laura Roslin in that picture looked so very alive, it seemed a desecration to think she was carrying her own death within her.

_But she knew. Even then, she knew. Hell, she knew before we ever started this journey_.

He revisited all the moments of his acquaintance with Roslin that he could summon before his mind's eye, reviewing them in the light of his new knowledge. He had known her to be determined, courageous and able to show considerable grace under pressure, but he had never before known how absolute the pressures on her were.

This woman had taken on the burdens of the Presidency and the duty to somehow ensure the survival of the human race. She had done so with no advance warning or preparation, amidst the most horrifying of circumstances. She had carried her responsibilities in the face of massive obstacles, himself included...

...and all the while she'd been staring her own mortality in the face, every single day.

At a time when any sane, sensible human being would want to live for the moment, she was living for humanity. Her last few precious months were doomed to be swallowed up by the Presidency—and the Pythian Prophecies.

_No wonder she turned to religion._ He felt his throat tighten at the memory of her, eyes burning in her pale face, telling him of her obligation to find Earth for their people.

And who was he to deny her that? Who was he to say that her honest faith was a worse thing to live for than his outright lie?

_So, Commander, what happens when her honest faith and your best military judgment are once again at odds? If she makes another vision-induced request of you that you know will compromise fleet security, will you, _can_ you do anything differently from the last time?_

_Well, I might be able to avoid arresting her, of course. Beyond that..._

_No. No, damn it, there must be something I can do. Something._

His eyes dropped once again to the picture. He remembered asking her to dance that Colonial Day; in fact he treasured that moment as one of the few times he'd surprised her into speechlessness. Her answering smile, before she'd accepted his proffered arm, had been a little awkward, a little embarrassed ... and more than a little flattered.

She had spent most of their dance looking at the people around them. He hadn't been sure whether she was gauging people's reactions to the sight of them together, or simply trying to hide behind the soft curtain of her auburn hair. But every so often, he'd found her grey eyes looking at him, and he'd wondered what she was thinking.

_There's really only one way to find out, isn't there?_ He tapped one finger absently on his desk.

_Perhaps it's time to take the initiative again._

Still looking at Roslin's image, he thoughtfully reached over to key the comm.


	6. Reconnection?

"Day" and "night" also have no objective meaning in deep space, but the human organism evolved on a planet and under a sun. Deep space vessels usually accommodated the circadian rhythms of their passengers by dimming their internal lights somewhat in all non-critical areas to represent shipboard "night". As she returned to her quarters, Roslin watched the lights dim and recalled the massive, fleet-wide case of space-lag they'd had to deal with soon after leaving Ragnar Anchorage. No surprise, really, when you had people used to twelve different planetary rotational cycles all trying to recalibrate their internal clocks to one time, the standard universal military time used by _Galactica_

and the rest of the ships' crews. Most people had been in a groggy state even before the Cylons had started their timed attacks, but they'd all adapted somehow. It was amazing what you could adjust to when you had to.

Take her for instance. For the rest of the day, up to the point where she'd sent Billy off on his date and bid good night to the rest of her staff, her back-brain had every so often ambushed her with tiny bits of physical data about William Adama. Even though she'd carefully replaced the photo back in its envelope, her memory would periodically snap back to a flash from sapphire eyes, the feel of a strong shoulder under her hand, the metallic trace of warship combined with clean, warm male that was his personal scent ... all things she'd ruthlessly schooled herself not to notice at the time.

_And in spite of it all, I still managed to address all the issues on my desk. I feel quite proud of myself, actually_.

Her own quarters were slightly larger than Elosha's, but they felt smaller, thanks to the desk with a comm unit that had been wedged in along one wall. Laura would have preferred to have one comm-free refuge, but she bowed to the need for the President to be contactable at all hours. Billy and the rest of her staff were zealous about guarding her sleep, but that meant that, on those extremely rare occasions when she was awoken by an off-hours call, she knew it was deathly serious.

She laid Adama's book and the envelope with the photo on her desk. Sternly quashing the masochistic impulse to look at the stillshot one more time, she turned instead to changing for bed. The one set of sleepwear in her severely limited wardrobe was at the laundry, but someone had provided her with a comfortable alternative: a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both military-issue grey. She pulled them on.

She was just settling the hem of the shirt around her hips when, completely unbidden, a picture jumped to her mind of Adama wearing a similar outfit--sweat-plastered to his body. She groaned and stifled her overactive imagination before it could elaborate further on the image.

"This has _got_ to stop," she startled herself by speaking aloud. "If it doesn't, my next meeting with the man is going to be a complete, unmitigated disaster."

She sat at the desk and once again started massaging her temples. _Enough, Laura. This is just some kind of vision-induced hormonal overreaction. It will fade in time. Until then, well, you'll just have to tough it out._

But in a strange way, she was also relieved to know her body and soul were still capable of such wayward impulses, even if she never intended to do anything about them.

The chime of the comm startled her. A prickle of unease ran down her spine as she answered it.

"Madame President?"

"Yes, Aja? What's happened?"

"Nothing really, ma'am." The young woman sounded extremely hesitant. "I have Commander Adama on the line for you. He said it wasn't urgent if you'd already retired, but I thought, since you just left, you were probably still awake."

Laura blinked. _When has that man _ever _called me concerning something that wasn't urgent? In fact, he avoids calling me unless absolutely necessary._

"Should I ask him to call back in the morning, ma'am?"

"No, Aja, that's all right. You can put him through."

"President Roslin? I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all, Commander." _I suspect you're going to be keeping me awake later, but that's hardly your fault, is it?_ "What can I do for you?"

"Well, the fact is ..."

There was a longish pause. _This can't possibly be what I think it is. William Adama, unsure of what to say?_ She suddenly wished she could see his eyes.

He cleared his throat and finally forged ahead in his businesslike CO's tone. "It has not escaped my notice—nor, I'm sure, has it escaped yours—that you and I have been having more than our share of communication problems."

"I would say that's a fair assessment." _Now where is this going?_

"It occurred to me ... I realize we have official pipelines, but I thought we should have a more direct, less formal line of contact. Even just a few minutes touching base with each other at the end of the day would give us a chance to speak our minds without constantly considering the political ramifications or what the public is going to think ... help keep the air clear, so to speak."

"I—" _Damn. He surprises me again._ "I couldn't agree more, Commander. I think that's an excellent idea." She settled back in her station chair. "What should we talk about?"

"The idea is not to edit ourselves, so ... whatever comes to mind."

_Oh, what's coming to _my_ mind definitely needs editing._ Fortunately he couldn't see her blush. "My day hasn't been too eventful. The usual supplies and logistics issues. You'll have full reports on those, I'm sure." She smiled. "I did attend a naming ceremony with Elosha this afternoon. Three babies, and three sets of brand-new parents all looking giddily overjoyed and completely terrified at the same time."

"Mm, I remember that feeling. That's one of life's events that you can never feel adequately prepared for."

_Good gods. Is that a hint of the personal creeping into the conversation?_ Emboldened, she asked, "And you? How has your day been?"

"Ah ... Fairly routine here as well." She heard a faint creaking noise and imagined him stretching in his chair. "I suppose the high point of my day was finding out that two new pilot trainees have taken a less-than-professional interest in your military advisor."

Eyes widening, she tried to stifle a laugh and failed. "Really. That's ... probably not too surprising." She tilted her head. "You keep calling him that, you know."

"Pardon me?"

"'Your military advisor', as if I have some kind of responsibility. He's still _your_ son."

A soft chuckle was her reward for that comeback. Laura marveled at how easily the words flowed between them. _When there's no one else in the room to posture for, not even each other, it seems we can just ... talk. Amazing._

"Well, I can tell you're not too concerned. Captain Apollo would never take undue advantage of the situation; he is every inch an officer and a gentleman."

"Yes."

_So much quiet pride, concentrated into a single syllable._ She wondered how she could have ever thought him cold and unexpressive. His voice alone was alive with subtle nuances of emotion, if you paid close enough attention to it.

"Have you—" He hesitated again. "Did you ever contact Major Cottle after your ... twinge?"

_Ah yes. My "twinge". Right._ She could feel herself blushing again. "I have an appointment with him tomorrow, for treatment and an assessment."

"...I see."

The ever-so-slight catch in his voice caught her ear and her attention.

"Commander, I want you to know, I am fighting this illness with everything I have. My prognosis is very grave, but anything I can do to change it, I will."

A faint exhalation. "That's ... good to know." She heard him shift again. "You'll let me know if there's any way I can help?"

_You just did._ "Of course. Thank you." She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. "And what about you? Not too long ago you were being stitched back together from the inside. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, though there has been some discomfort today. I promised—that is, I should probably make a doctor's appointment myself."

Some discomfort. Her mind balked at imagining what Adama would label "some discomfort". "No need, Commander. I'll make sure Dr. Cottle sees you tomorrow after he's done with me." She allowed a hint of steel to edge her tone. _You _will_ take care of yourself, damn you, for—for all our sakes._

"Yes, ma'am." Message received, apparently. "I should let you get some rest."

"Yes, I suppose so." She reluctantly realized she would have to let him go. "Commander ... thank you for calling."

"Until tomorrow then, Madame President. Good night."

The comm light turned off.

Laura curled up in her chair, her eyes falling once again to the envelope on her desk. This time she yielded to the impulse to take out the stillshot once more and let memory wash over her.

_What would have happened, I wonder, if we had found the courage to dance just a little bit closer?_

Sudden realization struck, pulling a startled laugh from her.

_Of course. Mayla Coiros surely wouldn't have sent a copy to me without also sending one to ..._

Well ... and well.

_Things will happen as they will, Elosha said. So ... we'll see what happens._

Laura laid the photo on the desk and went to bed, still smiling.


	7. Epilogue

Two days later, Alec stopped by Mayla's quarters with a schedule of events on various ships that might need photographic coverage. Seated cross-legged on her bunk, she was reading over two sheets of paper, a singularly bemused expression on her face.

"Hey, Mayla. What have you got there?"

She looked up. "I'm honestly not sure, Alec, but these arrived today in separate envelopes. Take a look." She handed over both sheets.

The first note was written in the slanted, scratchy script of someone who usually wrote in a hurry:

**Dear Ms. Coiros, I wanted to thank you for the stillshot you sent. I regret that I can't frame and display it as it deserves, but I suspect you understand why. Sincerely, Cmdr. W. Adama.**

The second showed a flowing, elegant handwriting:

**Dear Ms. Coiros, I was touched to receive such a gift of your singular artistry. I will treasure the photo you sent always. Yours truly, Laura Roslin.**

Alec looked up at Mayla, whose eyebrows were raised in inquiry. "So what do you think, Junior? Nothing? Or Something?"

Alec shook his head. "I don't know, Boss. I can't say for sure that it's Something ... but it sounds like it's definitely not Nothing."

"Heh. Mind those double negatives."

He grinned and handed the notes back. "One thing seems pretty safe to say: You did good."

"I hope so. I sincerely hope so."

Mayla reached for the box of printed photos sitting next to her. After flicking through the contents, she came across the third copy of the Roslin/Adama picture, the copy she'd finally decided to make for herself. Alec watched as she carefully tucked the notes in next to the picture.

"Best of luck, you two," she murmured.

Alec nodded. "So say we all."


End file.
